"Her general condition is better, but frankly, there are certain symptoms that puzzle me," admitted Roberts. "I noticed by your chart that she had a subnormal temperature this morning. Her temperature is still down, her pulse sluggish, and respiration rapid." "She insists that she has the flu," Miriam pointed out. "But the symptoms are contradictory." "True." Roberts adjusted his eyeglasses. "That is what puzzles me. I have made a careful examination and find both lungs are clear. I feel that I have not located the real trouble." "You don't consider her able to sit up out of bed?" questioned Miriam. "I ask because she insists upon doing so." "Most certainly not," promptly. "The old house is full of draughts and improperly heated, and there might be danger of pneumonia in her run-down condition. I left a few directions on the chart for you," added Roberts; then as Miriam, with a slight bow, started to walk past him toward the house, he detained her with a gesture. "Was the clergyman, who accompanied Miss Carter on Monday night to Abbott's sick room, her aunt's husband, the Reverend Doctor Nash?" At the direct question Miriam's color rose. "I am not sure of the relationship," she replied. "But to the best of my recollection, he certainly mentioned that his name was Nash." In silence Roberts fingered his hat which he had not replaced on his head since stopping to speak to Miriam. "And Betty Carter denied that she had visited Paul," he muttered. "It is most singular!" He echoed Miriam's thoughts, but she forbore to comment. Taking a mere acquaintance into her confidence was foreign to her reserved nature. Suddenly Roberts turned to her, his fine eyes twinkling with one of his rare smiles. "I admire your discretion," he said. "If I can be of any service at any time call upon me," and with a friendly wave of his hand, he continued his interrupted stroll toward the river. As Miriam approached the house she walked more slowly. Her hour in the fresh, invigorating air had done her more good than any tonic, and her long, uninterrupted sleep that morning had refreshed her. It was her first walk about the grounds since coming to Abbott's Lodge, and she had admired the scenery and well-kept appearance of the estate. For the first time she realized the size of the house as she went around the path that skirted it; it was far larger than she had supposed. Entering through the sunparlor, she halted in the dining room at sight of Sheriff Trenholm conversing with Charles Corbin, the caretaker. Trenholm's attention was diverted from Corbin by the nurse's arrival, and the caretaker seized the chance to edge his portly form nearer the pantry door. He stopped abruptly as the sheriff's hawklike gaze turned swiftly back to him, and rubbed the back of his hand across his dry lips. "Don't go, Miss Ward," exclaimed Trenholm. "You have come most opportunely. Exactly where did you find the bowl of nuts last night?"